


Sacrilege

by Pie (potteresque_ire)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Debauchery, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-23 01:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potteresque_ire/pseuds/Pie
Summary: Severus Snape suffered the Dark Lord’s wrath for refusing to participate in the debauchery at the Malfoy Manor. The Malfoys came to his defence.





	Sacrilege

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the _One Prompt, Many Writers_ challenge hosted by melusinahp in March, 2013.

_**"To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”**_  
**― Federico García Lorca, _Blood Wedding and Yerma_**

 

Even Dark Magic couldn’t Scourgify the blood on the dinning room chandelier.  
  
Might just as well. The scarlet glow was the only sign of life in present company. Wasn’t helping was the feast of flesh on the table—heavy breasts spilled to the sides, pubic hair between spread legs. Silver goblets mapped the stomach, their contents deathly still with magic.  
  
Severus had had a sip of the wine. It was a mistake. The aphrodisiac lingered on his tongue and mocked him, a Potions master, a loner—  
  
The Dark Lord plucked at the dark nipple erect towards him. “Bella,” he chided. “This grape isn’t coming off.”  
  
Bellatrix shrieked in laughter and kicked. A fresh stench inundated the room.  
  
Severus placed his folded napkin on the table. “I should go.” He rose, caught glimpse of the two hands linked and hidden between the seats next to him.  
  
“Oh?” The Dark Lord looked up, his skeletal fingers still clawing at his dinner meat. “Severus. Are our hosts not gracious enough?” The linked hands flew apart. “Are Lucius and Narcissa not good enough for your taste?”  
  
“Their hospitality is much appreciated.” Severus replied. The hands hesitated, then found each other again. “I—”  
  
“If so, you must pardon me.” The Dark Lord sat back, brandished his wand and toyed with it. The three couples at the table stiffened. Rodolphus too, bound to a stone pillar by Nagini, masturbating not to the lust of his wife but to his master’s order. “For it could only be that I, your master, have failed to provide you a suitable companion for our festivities.”  
  
“It is not necessary.”  
  
“Not necessary.” The Dark Lord echoed Severus’ words—low, dulcet, songs of the sweetest poisons if they could sing. An unseen breeze whistled through the crystals on the chandelier; three fell and cracked. It had been days Severus had displeased the Lord, from what no one had known or dared to ask. “Should we let Miss Burbage fill the role for the night? I’m sure she’s quite … charitable.” The Lord paused, let Amycus' cackle to his words gnaw on everyone’s ears. “After all, Severus, she has been calling for you with such faith. Such admiration.”  
  
The wrath had surfaced. Even Bellatrix clammed up—her mouth, her legs. Nagini hissed at the corner of the room.  
  
“As I said, it is not necessary.”  
  
The Dark Lord watched. His lips finally curled when Alecto Carrow wheezed, having held her breath for too long; they curled as if all that had trespassed him were water under the bridge, water like the Styx or Acheron. “Speaking of which, Severus, have you found a significant someone?”  
  
“I should go.”  
  
The Mark burned. Severus clenched his teeth, caged his cry of pain. “Your Lord is concerned about your welfare, Severus.” The smile persisted. “More concerned than what you may believe is necessary, or where you feel like going.” The Dark Lord snapped his fingers. Nagini let go of her captive, slithered on to the table and flicked her tongue. The short-lived silence gave way to grotesque slurping. then, moans that escalated into cries for mercy, for possession. The Dark Lord closed his eyes. “Certainly,” he lowered his voice, seemingly lost in the divine harmony, “an infatuation with Lily Potter couldn’t have lasted all these years?”  
  
Potter was given an emphasis. A burst of odium between the lips.  
  
Bellatrix groaned her climax. Heeding the call, Alecto’s husband threw his wife on the table and grunted, attempted entry with what little he had. His master opened his eyes and drank in the sight, pleased, his legs instinctively crossed against what had not returned with his renascence.  
  
“Nothing? No retort? Defence? Offence?” The Dark Lord looked at Severus again as Alecto thrusted herself into the lap of Rodolphus, still a sprawled heap on the floor. “Interesting. How can that be, from Severus, a miser of words but is always so careful, so keen to make his distastes, his virtue known?” He picked up a fresh goblet, took a swig and swirled the fluid. “Did you have fun with Mrs Potter? Don’t deny it, Severus, she was a pretty little thing. Quite illuminating to anyone’s imagination.” The tip of his long tongue skimmed his upper lip. “Begs the question: can that fire in her hair be … everywhere?”  
  
Fondling himself to his sister’s fornication, Amycus shouted, chortling prematurely at his own wit. “Was her Mudblood cunt wet for your half-blood cock?”  
  
“Tut, Amycus, do not cross the line of decency.” The swollen flesh in Amycus’ hand wilted. “Severus.” The Lord sighed. “Go if you must. But this drink I’m offering before you leave—” he Levitated the goblet and landed it in front of Severus “—you won’t refuse, will you?”  
  
The wine heaved, but not a drop spilled.  
  
“Our hosts spent tremendous effort procuring this label, so much that they’re saving it all for us.” The Dark Lord smiled again. The Malfoys paled. “Their goblets self-fill with something else. Water, I assume, something more... austere.” The look he cast at Narcissa was covetous. “So savor the wine, Severus. My heart would ache if I see a drop wasted—banished—somewhere. And take off that bat cloak you call a robe. The hearth fire here is the most pleasant.”  
  
Bellatrix twisted her neck towards them. She was deep in another round of debauchery, the serpent’s head all but disappeared inside her. “Want to see your …” She wagged a finger at below Severus’ waist. “Your nose is huge.” She snorted and, with her sense of self-preservation dulled by alcohol and lust, leered at her master.  
  
It didn’t go unnoticed. “Would it be more convenient if I command it, Severus?”  
  
“My Lord.” A voice rang like frost on the premature March blossoms of March, sweet but chilling. Delicate fingers, matched with a crushably small wrist and heavy, sparkling diamonds, crossed the table and curled around the goblet. “Severus did tell me he had to fly to Hogsmeade after dinner.” He didn’t. “Isn’t it enough punishment enough that Lily Potter is dead? And all those dreams he will have tonight, hair like fire...” She trailed off, her smirk at Severus laced with tease before she turned to their master. “Please let me take his place, my lord, just this time.” She raised the goblet and saluted. “I’ll drink as many as it will please you.”  
  
“Narcissa …” Lucius choked.  
  
“Your ickle husband doesn’t approve. Too selfish to share.” The Dark Lord’s eyes wandered and Narcissa met them with her hand, adjusted the neckline of her gown that, like every other she'd donned to these parties, revealed too much and not enough. “Love.” The Dark Lord scoffed as Lucius squirmed on his chair. “The way to weakness. Impotence.”  
  
“Aren’t we so blessed then, my Lord?” Narcissa took a sip of the wine. “That you have Severus for a servant, who has no living person to love and no loving person to live for?”  
  
“There’s Miss Burbage,” answered the Lord. The bracelet snapped on Narcissa’s wrist. Diamonds turned into white dust and sprinkled her cup.  
  
“Severus is the only means she has to the only end she wants”. Neither Narcissa nor her smile missed a beat. “She knows no one here. I, too, volunteer to suffer the misfortune of goblin company to get to my Gringotts vault.” She raised her goblet once more. It shook. Before it touched her lips, Lucius snatched it and downed the wine.  
  
“You’re defending him.” The Dark Lord addressed not to Narcissa, not to Lucius, but to both. “Why?”  
  
At the filth bellowed by Amycus’ wife, who’d deserted her husband to join her sibling-in-law, Narcissa seemed startled, then wavered, her hand raised to her mouth. Her face was gaunt—weak—without the overpowering gemstones for camouflage.  
  
“We …” Lucius stuttered. “We want to keep our dinner. No offense, Severus, but keep your robe.” He swallowed hard, lifted the goblet again before realizing the wine was gone and half placed, half dropped it on the table. “I saw it all back in Hogwarts.”  
  
He did. Lucius Malfoy had caught Severus kindling his budding desires for Lily in the middle of the night, in the Slytherin dungeons, unleashing the flame on the few things he’d picked up at Spinner’s End—a hair clip, two Muggle sweets, the broken lace of ballet flat. White lava gelled in Lucius’ watch as Severus cried under his long, dark fringes, muttering  _Mudblood, Mudblood…_  as if the word had been an incantation, as if it could banish his want for something he'd somehow already known he would never have. Yet, Lucius had never told anyone what he had seen, or used it against Severus in anyway, as if there were something … sacred in that memory that even the Malfoys refused to touch.  
  
“Very well.” The Dark Lord studied the three of them, the purple vein under his scalp dilated with the promise of future horror. “Looks like we’ll keep a virgin in our midst.” He waved.  
  
Severus bowed and retreated. The Malfoys spared not one look at him, watching and unseeing the sullying of their home. Meanwhile, the Dark Lord’s voice reverberated in his head and clawed under his skin.

 _Remember, Severus, virgins live for one purpose._  
  
The wrought iron gate was behind him. Severus raised his arms in the darkness and whispered his magic to autumn’s ascending wind. It took hold of his sleeves and lifted him into the skies, just like so many years ago when it, warmed by green eyes with the rays of sun around the pupils, lifted a little girl off the swing and carried her, like a dandelion, onto the grass, and into the heart and soul of a watchful little boy beneath her.  
  
Both the heart and soul had been broken. Maybe the wind would care, but it was too forgetful to remember. It only knew Severus was lighter, faster without them, and it carried him like fire on dry wood. Dead, but burning.  
  
Virgins lived to be sacrificed.  


  
_~ Fin_

 

 

 


End file.
